


If You Want to Stay

by writteninblood



Series: Never the Same [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Dadwald, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Food Porn, Gift Giving, M/M, Martin Meddles, POV Oswald Cobblepot, Truce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninblood/pseuds/writteninblood
Summary: Martin takes a risk with his Christmas gift for Oswald.





	If You Want to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to One of These Days. I decided to make it a series, documenting Oswald and Edward's slowly evolving relationship. I hope you enjoy :)

Oswald sits at a lavishly set table awaiting whatever Martin has planned for him. Martin had requested that he turn up at seven for a special Christmas dinner on the balcony of the Iceberg Lounge. He’d said to wear his best, or his favourite outfit, so here he was in his black and grey pin-stripe suit and purple tie with swirl patterns. It’s a favourite of his for no particular reason, purple is, after all, _his_ colour. His choice certainly has nothing to do with Gotham’s biggest eyesore, _the Riddler_.

Sitting alone at the table, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for company, he’s reminded of another time, the night everything went wrong, the one single moment that changed the course of the best friendship he’s ever had. Sometimes he tortures himself with thoughts of how things might have turned out differently, but he always comes to the same conclusion. The way he acted was true to himself. He doesn’t regret what he did. He regrets lying about it and the way everything fell apart afterwards, but the core fact remains the same. In every universe, in every timeline, he would kill Isabella. Because without her death, how would he have learned to love someone other than his mother so selflessly? He has learned from his mistakes. He has learned too, that he cannot completely shut people out. It took him a long time to be honest with himself, but he loves Martin like a son. And he knows that he would, without question, give his life for Martin’s. All of this can be traced back to one event. Love is his weakness, but also his strength. Even after everything, he thinks it’s worth the risk. 

Oswald looks up when the door opens, wondering what Martin could possibly be up to. He won’t have brought anyone – neither he nor Oswald have any friends outside of each other. He hopes that Martin won’t have brought Mr Penn because that would just be embarrassing for everyone involved. What if he’s brought an animal? Children like animals don’t they—

Martin steps onto the balcony and it turns out he did bring an animal because behind him is no one other than Edward Nygma himself. 

Oswald jumps up and stumbles backwards, his reaction automatic. Edward tilts his head curiously at Oswald’s reaction to him. He looks to Martin. 

“Martin, what is the meaning of this?”

Martin strides right up to him, and Edward stops a few feet away. Oswald eyes him warily, almost blinded by how much his suit sparkles. Martin has a series of notes prepared and tears each one off as soon as Oswald has read it.

_At school, we learned about the Christmas truce of 1914_

_For one day, the men forgot they were enemies and became friends_

_It made them really happy_

_I thought a truce with Riddle Man might make you happy_

_He has agreed to a truce for this one evening_

_Please don’t be mad_

Oswald deflates and collapses back into his chair. 

“Martin…” He sighs, his head in his hands. Eventually he looks up at Edward. 

“Please accept my apologies, I had no idea what he was planning. You are of course free to leave.”

Martin panics and looks behind him at Edward and then back at Oswald. He hurriedly scribbles another note.

_It’s CHRISTMAS_

He repeatedly holds it towards Oswald’s face for emphasis. Oswald sighs again. It _would_ be nice to have conversation with someone his own age and as learned and cultured as he is. If Edward is willing to talk. Edward surely would not have allowed a ten year old to talk him into this if he was really averse to the idea. He glances up at Edward. 

“Well, if you want to stay…”

Edward’s expression softens and something approaching a smile graces his features as he steps up to the table. Martin acts as the waiter and pulls Edward’s chair out and pushes it in as he sits. He then scribbles another note and holds it up for Edward.

“Duly noted.” Edward says.

Martin seems satisfied and turns to Oswald, writing another note.

_Happy Christmas Dad_

It is the first time Martin has called him that and it must have been a tremendous leap for him to do so. Despite the fact that Edward is just across the table, he pulls Martin towards him for a hug. Martin leaves then and Oswald watches him go, his heart feeling full. Then it’s just Edward and Oswald alone together for the first time in many months. Oswald turns to look at him, and he has an odd look on his face. Oswald clears his throat.

“What did Martin say to you?”

At that moment Oswald’s waiters begin bringing in steaming platters of food. Edward looks like he’s positively salivating. Oswald knows Edward is the kind of man who will forget to eat and who sometimes needs prompting, because he gets so lost in his schemes. Oswald used to wish he could be the one to fuss over him and remind him to eat, getting him to try new dishes with him, hoping that eventually Edward would enjoy food enough to want to eat without needing reminding. 

“He said to remember that it’s a truce and that if I hurt you he will kill me.”

Oswald smiles, fond. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

Edward gives him another strange look before looking down at the food. The waiters have left and everything is ready.

“May I?” Edward asks, licking his lips. 

“Please.”

Edward doesn’t waste any time. They pass dishes back and forth and Edward piles large amounts of food on his plate. Oswald watches, amused, as Edward digs in, barely restraining himself. There is something satisfying about being the one to provide him with a good meal. 

He lifts his own plate to his nose to sniff at the different meats; he can’t be too careful. Even though the meal has been prepared by his own chefs, the incident at the orphanage, even though a while ago now, did a number on him. If Oswald is going to eat people, he wants it to be on _his_ terms.

Once Edward’s pace slows, Oswald tries a stab at conversation. It seems extremely strange, to be attempting polite conversation, given their history. 

“Surely someone as prolific as yourself has better places to be on Christmas Day.” 

“I had _options_ , certainly,” Edward says as he pours himself a generous glass of champagne and takes a sip. 

“Those ladies who have taken to following you around must be terribly disappointed.” Oswald moves his own flute forward when Edward motions pouring him a glass.

“Yes, they do seem quite taken with me. Can’t really blame them.”

“Yet here you are.” Oswald watches him closely.

“As nice as it is to have _fans_ , and attractive ones at that—” Oswald feels jealousy flare up and immediately stamps it down, “—they’re not the sharpest tools in the box, try as they might.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oswald says. He isn’t.

“Stimulating as they may be in _some_ ways, it’s stimulation of the _brain_ I crave. Do you know how hard it is to find someone of my intellectual calibre in Gotham City?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do. Martin is extraordinarily intelligent for his age, but he is still just a boy. When he grows up I imagine we will have excellent conversation.”

That odd look has once again returned to Edward’s eyes. Oswald frowns.

“Are you quite alright, Edward?”

“Yes of course,” Edward replies, heaping potatoes onto his plate, undoubtedly planning to fill his mouth with food to avoid answering Oswald directly. That will not do. 

“Do you have a problem with my adoption of Martin?” Oswald doesn’t really want to ask this question, he fears the answer may lead to a disagreement and potentially violence. But they cannot continue this dinner if Edward is against Oswald being a father to Martin, truce or no truce.

Edward looks up from his plate, where he’d been avoiding Oswald’s gaze.

“Not so much a problem as a lack of understanding,” he says, placing the knife and fork down on the plate.

“And,” Oswald asks, trying to keep his voice neutral, “what is it exactly that you fail to grasp?”

“You never liked children,” Edward answers after a contemplative pause. Waiters arrive to clear the food. “And it seems odd that you would, ah…”

“Devote myself to someone else?” Oswald finishes, smiling now he knows why Edward is…bothered.

“Yes,” Edward confirms, his face still the picture of confusion. “He’s excelling at school, and participating in after school clubs that have no relevance to his one day running your empire. His extra-curricular activities are all of his own choosing.”

Oswald is alarmed by the amount Edward knows about Martin. “Have you been looking into his background? Because if you so much as _think_ an ill thought about my boy, I will—”

Edward raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and interrupts Oswald's tirade. “He told me. We’ve been…emailing.”

That is certainly a subject to revisit with Martin. How he managed to contact the Riddler, and why it was not picked up on sooner. He may need to ground Martin. Use one of those discipline techniques he’s read about. 

“So what then, Edward? If you don’t spit it out, so help me—”

“If you’re not preparing him to take over, then what’s the point?” Edward cuts in bluntly. 

Oswald raises his eyebrows, before starting to laugh. 

“Of course all of this will be his one day if he wants it. If he doesn’t then I do have one other candidate in mind. In the likely event that something happens to me, the papers are all drawn up to account for every eventuality. Of course I would love it above all else if he were to continue my legacy in the Underworld. But if my legacy turns out to be a strong-willed man that goes his own way, then I think I will have done well.”

At that moment, waiters start to lay dessert dishes before them. Across the table, Edward gawks at Oswald, mouth open, completely dumbfounded.

“Shut your mouth, Edward. Don’t you have any table manners?” Oswald chastises, but he’s grinning. Shocking the _Riddler_ has always been rather satisfying. 

Once all the cakes and sweet delicacies have been placed before them, the waiters retreat and Oswald closes his eyes and inhales. It all smells heavenly. He opens his eyes to find Edward watching him, his expression almost fond. He re-schools it quickly though, turning his gaze to the delights before him. 

“So, Edward, have you had a chance to look at the Falcone Collection at the Museum of Art? He was an old rascal but I’m not sure I could part with some of those magnificent pieces.”

Edward’s face lights up. “Yes I was there just a few days ago, and I must say he had fine taste. The _Last Hope_ piece I particularly enjoyed. There’s something very haunting about it.”

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” Oswald smiles. And he does. The piece in question is a painting of a view from one of the streets of Gotham, up past the high rises to a sky almost completely smothered with city pollution. One lonely star manages to shine through. That this speaks to Edward, stirs something within Oswald. Despite the ever present young and (supposedly) attractive women desperate for Edward’s attention, does he feel like that star? Is he lonely? Is that another reason he’s sitting here with Oswald, rather than enjoying the attentions of his… _fans_? Peering at his nemesis with understanding and sympathy, he picks up the champagne and pours them both another glass.

“We didn’t toast the first glass,” Oswald says, raising his flute. “To an appreciation of art and the finer things.”

Edward smiles and clinks his glass with Oswald’s.

They get to talking about the operas, plays and museum exhibitions that have come and gone over the past couple of years. They tend to agree on most things except Oswald will never be quite as passionate about classical music as Edward is. 

They start to try the desserts. Edward particularly favours the chocolate mousse, Oswald likes the chocolate orange fudge cake. They’re halfway through a second bottle of champagne and the conversation is flowing ceaselessly as they catch each other up on the cultural things they’ve experienced since they’ve been apart. They mix in reviews of each new dessert they try, their descriptions of the flavours and textures becoming increasingly whimsical. 

Oswald cuts himself a piece of the pavlova and sighs happily at how the cream, strawberries and crisp crust all complement each other in an exquisite explosion of flavour. Giddy on excellent company, good food and many glasses of champagne, he doesn’t think about what he’s doing when he cuts a small piece with all the layers on his fork and holds it out to Edward. 

“You simply must try this, Ed. It’s devine.”

Edward doesn’t hesitate to lean across and allow Oswald to feed it to him. It’s when his mouth closes around it that they both seem to realise what’s happening. Edward’s eyes are like saucers, his cheeks aflame. He hurriedly withdraws, and Oswald sits back in his seat, putting down the offending fork with a nervous clatter. Edward awkwardly chews and swallows the pavlova. 

“It’s very nice,” he says, his voice very croaky. Not his best description. Edward clears his throat. 

What was a very comfortable and relaxed atmosphere, much akin to their days as mayor and chief of staff, has now become very awkward and tense. Neither of them dares to move. Oswald half expects Edward to get up and leave, Oswald having unthinkingly overstepped his bounds. 

When Edward eventually moves, Oswald holds back a flinch, inwardly berating himself for letting his guard down and drinking more than he should have in the presence of someone who every other day is his mortal enemy. 

But Edward doesn’t get up. He furrows his brows for a few moments, as if deliberating something. Finally, he withdraws a thin rectangular parcel from the inside of his jacket. It’s wrapped in metallic green paper and tied with a bow of black silk. He holds it out to Oswald. 

His heart almost skips a beat.

“What is this?” Oswald asks, taking the parcel and holding it gingerly. 

“It’s a gift. It’s customary to exchange them on Christmas Day I believe.” He’s smirking and his eyes are sparkling. Bastard.

Oswald undoes the bow and tears open the paper, unravelling the pastel green tissue paper underneath it to reveal…a magazine. It’s the magazine that comes with the Sunday edition of the Gotham Gazette. On the cover is a photograph of them taken on the day of Oswald’s acceptance speech after his election to mayor. Oswald is holding up Edward’s arm in victory, having just announced him as his chief of staff. They look happy and ready to take on the world. Oswald’s heart constricts.

“There had better be a good reason for this, Ed,” Oswald says, trying to get his emotions under control. Even after all this time it still hurts to remember how good they had it. 

“I found it among my things when I recently moved into my new place. I thought I’d thrown it out, like I threw everything out after–” Isabella. Betrayal. Unimaginable pain. “Anyway, you were always the more sentimental one, and I thought you might like to have it. I always kept that particular magazine because it’s the only article written about us during that time where they quote me word for word. And I like the article as a whole, I feel it really captures our, ah, partnership, at that point in time.”

“I see,” Oswald grits out, thrown by Edward’s choice of words. _Partnership_. “So you want me to read this now?”

“Whenever you like,” Edward replies, and it’s obvious he’s feigning casual indifference as he takes another sip of champagne. 

Oswald turns the pages until he gets to the article. Despite being the magazine’s leading piece, it’s rather short. But that’s to be expected. Edward rarely gave interviews himself, he mostly arranged interviews and press conferences for Oswald. He looks at the photographs the two page spread uses, mostly unofficial paparazzi photographs of them sitting together talking intimately at the theatre, deep in discussion in the back of his limousine and so on. The collection of photographs makes them look like they have more than just a working relationship. He supposes that was probably the idea. Gossip to encourage sales. Implying something that was never there. Oswald blinks hard and focuses on reading the article.

_Ever since Oswald Cobblepot’s shock election to mayor two months ago, the citizens of Gotham have enjoyed a new era of very low crime rates and record levels of investment in public services. Mayor Cobblepot and his chief of staff Edward Nygma’s new brand of politics is most unusual in Gotham and for many completely unheard of, because they have kept their promises, and as such have become the leaders of the most popular administration in the city’s history. We were lucky enough to be granted an interview with Edward Nygma to talk about this extraordinary new era and the team that is the driving force behind it._

_**It’s true that yourself and Mayor Cobblepot come from unconventional backgrounds and have both served time at Arkham Asylum. Would you like to elaborate on this?**  
EN: I have certainly made mistakes which duly led me to Arkham, but I will always be thankful for my time there as it’s where my friendship with the mayor began to bloom. We realised we are of one mind and have the same goals – to nurture and protect the city we love._

_**You’ve already achieved so much in such a short space of time, what’s next on your agenda?**  
EN: It’s funny you mention Arkham, as that is what we are looking at as a next project. Having both spent time there as you said, we both feel strongly that the institution needs a vast overhaul. It’s one of many corrupt institutions in Gotham that must be reformed. We are planning an official visit to take place very soon. _

_**It’s very unusual in politics, and especially in Gotham, to have a clear balance of shared power as opposed to the despotic actions of one. What do you think makes your partnership work so well?**  
EN: As I said before, we are like different facets of the same mind. We want the same things, so it feels natural to work together to achieve them. One particular difference between us is that he has a big heart. He is incredible with people, reaching out to them and understanding them. It feels like an oversimplification to say that I am the head and he is the heart, for his intellect is certainly as sharp as mine. But he definitely gives more of himself emotionally. I am not that way. That’s not to say I don’t care – I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t. But I think no mayor has ever offered so much of themselves to their citizens. _

_**There have been rumours about the nature of your relationship, particularly since you were photographed holding each other intimately at the Sirens after the altercation with the Red Hood Gang. Would you care to comment on the speculation that the two of you are more than friends?**  
EN: I would not. I will say though that he is the best person I have ever had the honour of knowing. It is a privilege to stand by his side._

Oswald takes a great shuddering breath and blinks back tears. The idea that Edward ever thought about him this way…unless it was all media fodder?

“Did you mean all this when you said it?” 

Edward looks up from absently twirling the stem of his champagne flute. “I never lied to the press. I may have strategically withheld some truths, but the facts I gave were all true.”

Oswald had no idea that Edward had held him in such high regard. They were good friends of course, but this praise, from _Edward_ , well, it means everything. He picks up his flute and downs the remaining half glass in one go. It’s most ungentlemanly but he needs to fortify his nerves. He turns his attention back to the closing paragraph of the article.

_There you have it, straight from the source. Two former criminals, the unlikely heroes of Gotham City. When they put their heads together, is there anything they can’t achieve? Let’s hope they preside over this new golden age for many years to come._

Oswald can barely see; his eyes are completely full of tears. _Heroes_. He knows he can’t hope to prevent them from falling, so he hurriedly grabs a napkin and dabs at his face while Edward tactfully averts his eyes.

“Thank you,” Oswald says, composing himself. “I’m afraid I didn’t get you anything, this was all sprung on me rather suddenly.”

“That’s all right. You’ve unwittingly shared your food and finest champagne with me, I’d say that’s good enough. Oh, and your company wasn’t bad either.”

Oswald laughs, still wiping at his eyes. There’s no way anything he could have given Edward would have equalled what he gave Oswald. Validation that even after everything he acknowledges what Oswald once meant to him. Even now, Edward still knows what Oswald needs, what makes him happiest. The most precious gift he could receive is warmth and affection from the person he loves and hates the most. And he _does_ hate Edward. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself. The man makes it difficult and easy in equal measure.

After a period of comfortable silence, Edward says, “well I think I should get going. I imagine you would like to spend some time with your...” Edward looks like he’s really struggling to get his mouth around the word, “...son before he goes to bed.”

Oswald smiles. “Yes, I do have a final gift to give him. I probably spoil him too much…” Oswald trails off wondering if that makes him a bad parent. 

Edward simply looks at him the way he did the first time Oswald came to see him at Arkham after sending him the biscuits and sweater, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing or hearing.

Abruptly he stands up. Oswald stands up too and they both face each other at the side of the table. Oswald looks up at Edward’s familiar face with uncertainty. He doesn’t know how they’re going to end the evening, this is uncharted territory. 

Edward takes a deep breath and leans down closer to Oswald. “This doesn’t change anything Oswald. I’m still going to kill you.”

Of course it would end with Edward going on the defensive. Oswald is beginning to understand. Back to what they know, rather than continue building on what they’ve shared these past few hours.

“Of course you are,” Oswald says agreeably.

“I _am_. When you meet your death, it will be by _my_ hand.”

Oswald meets Edward’s gaze calmly. He’s not sure who Edward is trying to convince.

“I look forward to it.” Oswald says, blithely.

Edward’s eyes widen, visibly frustrated at not being taken seriously. He grits his teeth and looks at Oswald for a few more moments before turning on his heel and stalking towards the exit. He stops in the doorway and turns around once more. 

“Merry Christmas, Penguin,” he says, grudgingly.

Making a(nother) threat on his life and then wishing him a merry Christmas, how very—and just like that it comes to him. He realises he _does_ have a gift to give Edward. He smiles at his former friend. 

“Merry Christmas, _Riddler_.”

Ed gasps, a hand coming to hang awkwardly in the air. And then he smiles so brightly that it makes the fairy lights twirled around the balcony look dim in comparison. They smile across the room at each other for a few moments, and then he’s gone. 

Oswald looks down at the magazine and moves his fingertips reverently over the words. Edward _cared_ about him. He’s not trying to ignore the fact that they were friends anymore. He told the interviewer Oswald was the best person he’d ever known. And what’s more is that he wanted Oswald to know he’d once felt that way. More tears fill his eyes and he lets them fall. 

Giving Martin a stern talking to can wait until tomorrow. He scoops up the magazine (along with the wrapping paper and the silk bow) and makes his way upstairs. He leaves them on his bed before collecting his gift for Martin and going to his room. He knocks on the door before entering, holding the gift behind his back. 

Martin smiles when he comes in and picks up his notepad, something already written on it.

_Did you have a nice dinner?_

“It was wonderful. Thank you, Martin.” 

Martin looks relieved as Oswald perches on the edge of the bed beside him.

“I do need to talk to you about the fact you contacted my worst enemy without consulting me though. I want you to tell me everything. But we’ll talk in the morning. Understood?”

Martin nods solemnly. 

“Are you ready for your last gift now?”

Martin’s eyes widen and he tears off the used paper and starts to write a new note.

_Another present???_

“What you did this evening made me very happy, so I think you deserve another present. Do you remember the one thing you told me you wanted when I asked you?”

Oswald had already planned to give Martin this gift before the surprise dinner with Edward happened, but he’s extra glad he had saved something for later now.

Martin nods his head enthusiastically and his face lights up as Oswald places the gift into his waiting hands. He tears off the wrapping paper (purple, of course) and grasps the gift tightly, grinning up at Oswald.

It’s a puzzle book.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not regret that Lady and the Tramp moment at all. Like Martin said, it's CHRISTMAS.


End file.
